When that first email from Dominos arrived, letting me know that I could get another delicious pizza for a fantastic price, I instantly knew I'd made a mistake. The pit in my stomach told me I'd done something wrong. I gave into the machine, and it had me. Still, I had to go through the motions to release myself from its clutches. I unsubscribed from the email and moved on with my day. The next…
It was dinner time, and I was starving. We decided to get some pizza. My wife always orders. There's two reasons for this. First, she's better at coordinating groups of people clamoring for that favorite American pastime. She takes the requests, maneuvers the app, and has the patience necessary to figure out complicated dietary preferences. Second, I don't like to cloud up my perfect inbox zero…